


A Tale Seldom Told

by amberfox17



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Mythology - Freeform, Worldbuilding, au-ish movie world backstory, sort of future Thor/Loki hints
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-07 00:47:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/742145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amberfox17/pseuds/amberfox17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Odin tells a tale of battle, of two great forces crashing today, of the victorious charge against the wicked foe. Odin tells the story of Asgard’s greatness, of the glory of his people, of the righteousness of their dominion and the power of the Realm Eternal. He tells it to his sons, two small boys whose eyes shine at the thought of killing the monsters, of proving themselves by dealing out death and destruction. They think it a good story, and it is well-loved and oft-told.</p><p>This is not that story.</p><p>This is the story Frigga tells, of Asgard before the war, of the rise of a grim king and the beginnings of empire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Tale Seldom Told

_Once, mankind accepted a simple truth: that they were not alone in this universe. Some worlds man believed home to their Gods. Others they knew to fear. From around the cold and darkness came the Frost Giants, threatening to plunge the mortal world into a new ice age. But humanity would not face this threat alone. Our armies drove the Frost Giants back into the heart of their own world. The cost was great. In the end, their king fell, and the source of their power was taken from them. With the last great war ended, we withdrew from the other worlds and returned home at the Realm Eternal, Asgard. And here we remain as the beacon of hope, shining out across the stars. And though we have fallen into man's myths and legends, it was Asgard and its warriors that brought peace to the universe._

Odin tells a tale of battle, of two great forces crashing today, of the victorious charge against the wicked foe. Odin tells the story of Asgard’s greatness, of the glory of his people, of the righteousness of their dominion and the power of the Realm Eternal. He tells it to his sons, two small boys whose eyes shine at the thought of killing the monsters, of proving themselves by dealing out death and destruction. They think it a good story, and it is well-loved and oft-told.

This is not that story.

This is the story that Frigga tells, spinning the tale with fine threads instead of broad strokes. She tells it to her sons, two small boys who do not yet know the weight of the destiny they bear, who cannot conceive that there may be two sides to one story, that the one told by the victors might differ from the one unspoken by the fallen. She tells a story of the time before the war before Jotunheim, when the Realm Eternal was a young world, a beacon not of hope but of ambition, ruled by a king who looked with greedy eyes on the treasures of the other realms. It is not so glorious a tale, nor as simply told, and it is hard to keep her sons’ attention. They do not care for this story overmuch, but she tells it nonetheless, and hopes that one day, when it matters most, they might remember it.

In those early days, when Asgard was new, her people were not the Asgardians but the Aesir. Their king had come to power through struggle and, some said, by the slaughter of his kin. Whatever the truth, although the Aesir had become battle-hardened and skilled in the arts of war, their land was ruined, a wasteland of death and neglect. Winter still came to Asgard then, and the young warrior king saw that his people would likely not survive the cold and the dark. He was a king steeped in blood and slaughter, but he was not a careless king, and he turned his mind to how best to ensure the Aesir would thrive.

In those early days, the paths between the worlds had not yet been harnessed, and rather than a shining rainbow bridge there were a thousand thousand thin and secret trails, snaking out like ribbons of light, entwining around the nine realms. The realms were closer then then they are now, and it was common for raiding parties from one realm to intrude into another, taking what they needed in a swift skirmish before retreating back to their own lands. In this way, deer and cattle, goblets and plates, wine and marriage partners were passed between the realms. Sometimes, a woman or a man might go willingly, and the new family and the old would have common cause to barter and trade, a better way to get what was needed than risk the lives of the young and needy. Sometimes, it would not be willing, and a raiding party would meet death in the trying, and a bloodfeud would rage until time or wergild stilled the violence in their hearts. It was a more savage world then, but one in which it was wise to know the ways and right customs of the other worlds, the better to woo a prospective mate.

The king and his warriors were powerful and strong, well-armed and great in battle. It would have been easy for them to raid the other realms with little fear of reprisal, for already the Aesir were known as death-dealers. But the young king wanted more than just supplies for the winter or wives for his men. He had long held a secret desire in his heart and now the throne was his it would be a secret no longer. He wanted all the realms to bow to him, to have them united under his protection and leadership, a great shining empire that would last for all time. He believed, and truly believed, that this was a great thing, a worthy dream and the best possible future for all the children of Yggdrasil. And with this desire burning in his heart, he walked a path of shadows, of darkness and hidden things, to find the roots of the World Tree and the three sisters dwelling there. That tale is well-known and does not concern us here, save that the king returned, one-eyed and grim-faced, and with two ravens that whispered secret knowledge to him and only him.

The king moved swiftly. First, he struck against Alfeim. The Ljosalfar did not attempt to face him in battle, but sent instead their oldest and wisest advisors, to offer up their surrender, for as all know, the Fair Folk cannot bear the touch of iron. To the Aesir, the Ljosalfar seemed a pathetic and foolish people, full of song and pleasure, with no thought for tomorrow or for anything but their own joy. They had no cities, no weapons and no order; in short, nothing of value for the Aesir to take or use. A foolish, fickle people, the Aesir thought, their only magic a feeble glamour and long life. They seemed little point in imposing their will on such a people and so the Ljosalfar were left to their own devices, their elders gladly swearing allegiance and saying many fine things before disappearing back into the forests and groves. Odin left his great general, the warrior-lord Tyr, to keep watch over the Alfar in case they planned treachery, though he thought it a slim chance.

Next, the grim king marched on Nidavellir, Svartalfheim’s greatest city and home to the svartalfar king. He arranged his forces outside the cities’ great gates and descended into the mountain hall with only his Einherjar. There, he negotiated with the svartalfar king, for although the Aesir were mighty warriors, none could surpass the svartalfar for the making of weapons, and to try to take Nidavellir might well lead to the destruction of Aesir and svartalfar alike.  Nidavellir’s king cared little for the trappings and symbols of power, and spoke to his fellow monarch as he worked a forge, bare-chested and crownless. Svartalfheim agreed to pay tribute to Asgard as long as their trade with the other realms was not restricted; to pay homage in name and golden gifts and nothing more. The grim king agreed and took the great golden spear forged by the smith-king’s own hand as proof of their accord, although not without giving up a great many rings, for a svartalfar sets his own price and will have no other.

Then the grim king went alone to Helheim. What happened in the land of the dead remains forever a mystery, but when he returned, Asgard’s king spoke little, slept less and took to pacing the camp at night, an old man wrapped in a grey cloak.

Niflheim and Muspelheim were claimed without the forces of the Aesir ever setting foot there. The realms of ice and fire were barren wastelands, unpeopled except for dragons and demons and fell beasts, which were of no consequence or value to Asgard. Likewise Midgard was claimed as a realm without a ruler and thus in need of protection, its primitive people in desperate need of the guiding hand of their betters.

This left only two realms: Jotunheim, home of the proud Jotun warriors, and Vanaheim, home to the Vanir. The Vanir were a great and powerful people, unused to war but skilled in the art of _seidr_ , an art the Aesir did not possess. Vanaheim was green and lush, a world of immense forests and lush growth, her cities rising out of the sea and clinging to mountain peaks. Vanaheim was ruled by Njord and Nerthus, brother and sister and husband and wife, and they held the power of the sea and the land. They had three children, the twins Freyr and Freyja, heirs to the thrones, and a youngest daughter, famed for her gift of weaving. They had watched the rise of the Aesir and so were ready when the grim king and his armies arrived and set fire to the great green forests.

The war was terrible. The rivers ran red with the blood of the slain, and the smoke from the burning of the bodies blotted out the sun. The Vanir fought bravely, with sword and spear and seidr, but the grim Aesir king could not be beaten in battle, for that was the power he held. Njord and Nerthus rode at the head of their army, calling on the power of sea and stone, but it was not enough for the ravens whispered their wicked words and the grim king lifted his golden spear and threw at exactly the right moment to pierce the heart of Nerthus. Without his beloved sister-queen Njord could no longer bear the death of his people and the destruction of his land. He knelt before the grim king and offered up his crown: Vanaheim was defeated.

And so the realms as we know them now came to be. Magnanimous in victory and merciful as he had not been to his own, the grim king did not destroy Vanaheim’s royal house. But neither was he fool enough to leave father and children together, to remember and plot. Njord was left to roam his beautiful coral palace alone, a broken man and client king. Freyr, the young prince, was given Alfheim to rule, a place where he could retain his title of Lord but ferment no rebellion. His sister-wife was removed from him and given a hall in Asgard where she could teach the Aesir women _seidr_. The Aesir thought magic a womanly craft, and forbade their men from learning from her, but it was soon said that this ban did not apply to the royal house, as it became known that Freyja taught the grim king the ways of _seidr_. Their younger sister was also taken to Asgard, as a living symbol of the grim king’s vision of the union of the two people, a union made flesh when the Aesir king wed the Vanir princess.

This new world came with new names: the Aesir and the Vanir were now one people, the Asgardians, named for the shining city-world that almost all the survivors were moved to. There, they could trade with the dwarves of Svartalfheim or visit the elves of Alfheim, but only via the Bifrost, the great bridge that was the grim king’s first great work of _seidr_. The jotun, who had long been allies of Vanaheim, remained the only people outside the golden empire and so were people no longer: Frost Giants, the soldiers called them, sneering, fearsome monsters soon to be tamed. For denied their trade and skirmishes with the Vanir, the Frost Giants turned their attention to Midgard, the only green and growing realm now accessible to them. And that story is well-known and oft-told.

The Realm Eternal is golden and glorious and great, a shining beacon of prosperity and the heart of the nine worlds. But it was not always so, and although the young care little for tales of the past, the older generation remember, and some perhaps hold the old ways and the old names deep in their heart. For once a sister had watched her siblings love each other without thinking it was strange, and once a child had seen her parents both fall in love with a jotun, and seen that love endure even after the jotun had chosen to return to her own people and her own world. And Asgard’s queen knows only too well how a relationship forged in hate and anger can, in time and if one chooses to make it so, become a thing of beauty and grace, a shining jewelled necklace and not a collar.

And Frigga, who weaves and weaves and weaves, and never speaks of what she sees in the patterns of her loom, watches her two sons sleep and hopes and hopes and hopes.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm...not really sure where this came from, but its a strange mash-up of Marvel and Norse mythology, inspired by the Everything Burns Marvel crossover, where Odin marries Freyja to end the Aesir/Vanir war. Its been rattling around my brain and then my hard drive ever since, so if you've made it this far, thank you for reading! Any suggestions on how to better tag this odd little fic would be greatly appreciated.


End file.
